


Delight

by yeaka



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 23:59:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19261825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Silas buys a sandwich.





	Delight

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The new sandwich joint has air conditioning, and really, that’s all that matters. Their menu could be nothing but soggy potatoes, and Silas would still buy some just for an excuse to sit somewhere cool. His t-shirt’s practically glued to him from sweat, partially because of his jog, but mostly because the weather’s brutal. The sun glares in through the large wall-to-wall windows, but Silas can’t _feel_ it, and that’s what he cares about. 

Despite being brand new and, as far as Silas knows, not having much advertising, the place is half full, probably because no one else can stand the heat either. There are two young women in line ahead of him that take forever deciding on their filling, but at least it gives Silas a chance to skim the menu. Predictably, everything on the large boards above the til feature heavy helpings of meat and cheese, save for one generic ‘veggie’ sandwich. Fortunately, there’s a create-your-own option. By the time he’s finally up, he has it all built in his head. 

“Hey,” the employee greets him, not bothering with any other scripted dialogue. That suits Silas just fine. 

He points at the multi-grain bread and starts, “Hi. Could I please have a half with multi-grain?”

“Half?” the man on the other side of the glass repeats. 

“Yes, please. I don’t think I can eat a whole baguette.”

“We only make whole ones.”

“Well... could you just cut it in half? You can charge me the same.”

“We don’t do halves.”

Silas stares for a couple extra seconds, but the employee is clearly done with him. He can practically hear the other man’s thoughts: _I don’t get paid enough to deal with you; just order off the menu._ Which Silas, having served his own time behind a register, totally understands.

Disgruntled but forcing himself past that, Silas continues, “Uh, okay. Um... lettuce, and... just all the vegetables you have. With the vinaigrette dressing. Thanks.”

The employee lurches to work, unceremoniously dumping one, maybe two of each vegetable along the line onto Silas’ crushed bread. Silas already feels too awkward to ask for more. He’d also appreciate some more care in the placement, but he recognizes it’s not his mother cooking for him. Not that she’s particularly caring. Wygar would be. He’d never throw a single olive onto a pile of lettuce and call it a day.

“Cheddar or Swiss?”

It’s Silas’ turn to ask, “What?”

“What kind of cheese do you want?”

“I don’t... no cheese, please.”

“Meat?”

“No, just the vegetables.”

“What dressing?”

“...Vinaigrette.”

“Toasted?”

“It’s vegetables.”

“You want it toasted?”

“...No, thanks.”

The man tersely wraps the under-stuffed, sloppy sandwich in a bunch of wax paper before Silas can say he doesn’t need it to go. It’s too late. The man even throws three napkins on top that Silas definitely won’t use. The package is slid across the counter like the mummy of a man no one cared about, and the register proclaims the sandwich 11.76$ even though Silas just wanted a small vegetarian snack. 

He pays it anyway. He keeps telling himself _AC_ to justify it. He quickly shuffles away from the counter afterwards to recycle the napkins and feel guilty over being unable to do the same with the already oil-stained wrapper. Then he’s carting it over to the window seats and cursing himself for not remembering to bring his water bottle on his run. He can’t justify buying bottled water. Theoretically the vegetables will have decent water content. Except he definitely got more bread than vegetable.

He sits down at the bar pushed up against the glass and unwraps his pitiful sandwich. It’s even sliced in half, but apparently he had to buy both halves. He probably won’t come back. He’ll just bring two water bottles on his next run and use one to douse himself with in lieu of AC. 

Despite being mildly hungry, he wastes a few seconds just staring at his ‘food.’

“They’re too big, right?”

Silas startles, head swiveling to the right. There’s a man two seats down. A man about Silas’ age with striking pink hair, a chiseled jaw, and a smile that could make even his mother smile. The most handsome man Silas has ever seen. 

He’s too busy ogling the physical manifestation of everything attractive to answer. The man clarifies, “The sandwiches here. They make them too big, right?”

“Oh,” Silas mutters, shaking his brain back into place. “Yeah... yeah, they do.” The man’s smile makes Silas’ stomach do a flip, and when that’s finished, Silas clears his throat and adds, “Yeah, I... just wanted about half of this, but...”

“Same here. Only I didn’t want to waste it, so I wound up just getting a cookie.” He holds up a giant doughy circle with a single bite taken out of it. 

Silas was never going to buy a cookie here, but simply to keep the gorgeous man talking to him, he asks, “How is it?”

The man shrugs, breaks a little piece off the bottom, and holds it out to Silas. Silas eats it purely because he’d probably eat anything pink-haired-Adonis wanted him to.

It tastes like stale sugar. He admits, “It’s alright.”

“It’s too sweet,” the man says, like he read Silas’ mind and couldn’t agree more. “But these kinda places never have decent salads or anything, so...”

Silas blurts, “I have vegetables. Do you want half a sandwich?”

That’s so weird. Silas immediately regrets being weird. But the man grins at him and offers just as kindly, “I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s not—I’m not going to eat this much anyway, and I don’t want it to go to waste...”

“That’s really nice of you. Do you mind if I ask what’s in it?”

“Uh, cucumbers, green peppers, onion, olives—well, _an_ olive, and who knows which half it’s in...” The man laughs at Silas’ joke, and it sounds just as charming as the rest of him looks. Silas summarizes, “It’s pretty much just a veggie.”

“Sounds delicious. Well... if you don’t mind...”

“I don’t.”

The man shifts off his seat, moving one closer to bring him right next to Silas. His cologne smells like cinnamon and cappuccinos. Silas feels hypnotized and has to forcibly break out of it long enough to slide the open wrapper between them and separate the sandwich halves more. Then the man thrusts a hand out and says, “Panto, by the way. Panto Trost.”

“Silas Dengdamor. Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

Silas takes Panto’s hand for one firm shake. For a moment, they’re turned to one another, looking in each other’s eyes, definitely having a moment despite the children screaming outside and the lazy patrons around them tossing crumpled wax paper on the floor like their planet isn’t dying. Then Silas and Panto break apart and turn back to the window, each reaching for their sandwich. It doesn’t taste nearly as bad as Silas expected, but it could just seem that way since his mood’s skyrocketed. 

“So,” Panto mumbles between bites, “we’ve got pretty nice weather here.” 

“Aside from the sun melting the concrete,” Silas tosses in, unable to stop himself. That brings back the painful reminder that he probably reeks of sweat and looks worse. 

“Well, better sun than rain, at least. I was hoping to go for a run after this.”

Of course Panto works out. He’s shaped like an upside down pine tree. “I just came from a run.”

“Really?” Panto glances over at Silas, then pauses when he realizes he has dressing on his lip wipes that off on his thumb, swiftly sucking off the remains. “Do you know where the best trails are around here? I just moved recently.”

Silas knows a few good ones. And he could tell Panto. He could write them down for Panto. But opportunities don’t come like this every day, so Silas risks suggesting, “I could show you some.”

“Could you?” Panto’s smiles are stunning. He seems to be comprised entirely of smiles. He laughs good-naturedly and notes, “A sandwich _and_ a tour? I’m going to owe you quite a lot after this.” 

Silas shrugs. “It’s no trouble.”

“But it’s something. Perhaps I could buy you dinner sometime as a thank you?”

Silas, grinning, breathes, “Perfect.”


End file.
